The Ghost Kings

THE GHOST KINGS

their mother for unknown years they did no reverence. Only one hideous little man ran up to her and called out:

“Thou didst punish me once, old woman, now why should I not kill thee in payment? Thy tree is down at last.”

Nya looked at him sadly, and answered:

“I remember. Thou shouldst have died, for thy sin was great, but I laid a lesser burden on thee. Man, thou canst not kill me yet; my tree is down, but it is not dead.”

She held up the green bough in her hand and looked at him from beneath it, then went on slowly: “Man, my wisdom remains within me, and I tell thee that before I die thou shalt die, and not as thou desirest. Remember my words, people of the Ghosts.”

Then she walked on with the others, leaving the dwarf staring after her with a face wherein hate struggled with fear.

“Thou liest,” he screamed after her; “thy power is gone with thy tree.”

Scarcely were the words out of his mouth when they heard a crash which caused them to look round. A bough, broken by the storm, had fallen from on high. It had fallen on to the head of the dwarf, and there he lay crushed and dead.

“Ah!” piped the other dwarfs, pointing towards the corpse with their fingers, and closing their eyes to shut out the sight of blood, “ah! Nya is right; she still has power. Those who would kill her must wait till her tree dies.”

Taking no heed of what had happened, Nya walked on into the forest. For a while Rachel noted the little huts built, each of them, at the foot of a tree. There were hundreds of these huts that they could see, showing that the people were many,

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but by degrees they grew fewer, only one was visible here and there, set beneath some particularly vigorous and handsome timber. At last they ceased altogether; they had passed through that city, the strangest city in the world.

Trees – everywhere trees, hundreds of trees, tens of thousands of trees soaring up to heaven, making a canopy of their interlacing boughs, shutting out the light so that beneath them was a deep oppressive gloom. There was silence also, for if any beasts or birds dwelt there the hurricane had scared them away, silence only broken from time to time by the crash of some giant of the forest that, its length of days fulfilled at last, sank suddenly to ruin, to be buried in a tomb of brushwood whence in due course its successor would arise.

“Another life gone,” said the old woman, Nya, flitting before them like a little grey ghost, every time that this weird sound struck upon their ears; “whose was it, I wonder? I will look in my bowl, I will look in my bowl.”

For, as Rachel discovered afterwards, these people believed that the spirit of each tree of the forest is attached to the spirit of a human being, although that being may dwell in other lands, far away, which dies when the tree dies, sometimes slowly by disease, and sometimes in swift collapse, so that they pass together into the world of ghosts.

On they flitted through the gloom, on for mile after mile. Although the leaf-strewn ground showed no traces of it, evidently they were following some kind of path, for no fallen trunks barred their progress, nor were there any creepers or brushwood, although to right and left of them all these could be seen in plenty. At last, quite of a sudden, for the bole of a

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tree at the end of the path had hidden it from them, they came upon a clearing in the forest. It seemed to be a natural, or, at any rate, a very ancient clearing, since in it no stumps were visible, nor any scrub, or creepers, only tall grass and flowering plants. In the centre of this place, covering a quarter of it, perhaps, was a vast circular wall, fifty feet or more in height, and clothed with ferns. This wall, they noted, was built of huge blocks of stone, so huge indeed that it seemed wonderful that they could have been moved by human beings. At the sight of that marvellous wall Rachel and Noie halted involuntarily, and Noie asked:

“Who made it, Mother?”

“The giants who lived when the world was young. Can our hands lift such stones?” Nya answered, as, bending down, she thrust the top shoot from her fallen tree deep into the humid soil, then added: “On, child; there is danger here.”

As she spoke something hissed through the air just above her head, and stuck fast in the bark of a sapling. Noie sprang forward and plucked it out. It was a little reed, feathered with grasses, and having a sharp ivory point, smeared with some green substance.

“Touch it not,” cried Nya, “it is deadly poison. Eddo’s work, Eddo’s work! but my hour is not yet. Into the open before another comes.”

So they ran forward, all three of them, seeing and bearing nothing of the shooter of the arrow. As they approached the titanic wall they saw that it enclosed a mound, on the top of which mound grew a cedar-like tree with branches so wide that they seemed to overshadow half of the enclosure. There

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were no gates to this wall, but while they wondered how it could be entered, Nya led them to a kind of cleft in its stones, not more than two feet in width, across which cleft were stretched strings of plaited grass. She pressed herself against them, breaking them, and walked forward, followed by Rachel and Noie. Suddenly they heard a noise above them, and, looking up, saw white-robed dwarfs perched upon the stones of the cleft, holding bent bows in their hands, whereof the arrows were pointed at their breasts. Nya halted, beckoning to them, whereon, recognising her, they dropped the arrows into the little quivers which they wore, and scrambled off, whither Rachel could not see.

“These are the guardians of the Temple that cannot either speak or hear, who were summoned by the breaking of the thread,” said Nya, and went forward again.

Now to the right, and now to the left, ran the narrow path that wound its way in the thickness of the mighty wall, which towered so high above them that they walked almost in darkness, and at each turn of it were recesses; and above these projecting stones, where archers could stand for its defence. At length this path ended in a cul-de-sac, for in front of them was nothing but blank masonry. Whilst Rachel and Noie stared at it wondering whither they should go now, a large stone in this wall turned, leaving a narrow doorway through which they passed, whereon it shut again behind them, though by what machinery they could not see.

Thus they passed through the wall, emerging, however, at a different point in its circumference to that at which they had entered. In the centre of the enclosure rose the hill of earth

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that they had seen from without, which evidently was kept free from weeds and swept, and on its crest grew the huge cedarlike tree, the Tree of the Tribe. Between the base of this hill and the foot of the wall was a wide ring of level ground, also swept and weeded, and on this space, neatly arranged in lines, were hundreds of little hillocks that resembled ant-heaps.

“The burying-place of the Ghost-priests, Lady,” said Nya, nodding at the hillocks. “Soon my bones will be added to them.”

Walking across this strange cemetery, they came to the foot of the mound that was entirely overshadowed by the cedar above, from the outspread limbs of which hung long grey moss, that swayed ceaselessly in the wind. Here dwarfs appeared from right and left, the same whom they had seen within the thickness of the wall, or others like to them, some male and some female; melancholy-eyed little creatures who bowed to Nya, and looked with fear and wonder at the tall while Rachel. Evidently they were all of them deaf mutes, for they made signs to Nya, who answered them with other signs, the purport of which seemed to sadden and disturb them greatly.

“They have seen the fall of my tree in their bowls,” explained Nya to Noie, “and ask me if it is a true vision. I tell them that I am come here to die and that is why they are sad. This is the place of dying of all the Ghost-priests, whence they pass into the world of spirits, and here no blood may be shed, no, not that of the most wicked evil-doer. If any one of the family of the priests reaches this place living, the glory of the White Death is won. Follow and see.”

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So they followed her up the mound, past what looked like the entrance to a cave, until they reached a low fence of reeds whereof the gate stood open.

“The gate is open, but enter not there,” whispered the old Mother of the Trees, “for those who enter there live not long. Look, Lady, look.”

Rachel peered through the gate, but so dense was the gloom in that holy spot that at first she could only see the enormous red bole of the cedar, and the ghostly, moss-clad branches which sprang from it at no great height above the ground. Presently, however, her eyes, grown accustomed to the light, distinguished several little white-robed figures seated upon the earth at some distance from the trunk staring into vessels of wood which were placed before them. These figures appeared to be those of both men and women, while one was that of a child. Even as they watched, the figure nearest to them fell forward over its bowl and lay quite still, whereon those around it set up a feeble, piping cry, that yet had in it a note of gladness. The dwarf-mutes who had accompanied them, and who alone seemed to have a right of entry into this sad place, ran forward and looked. Then very gently they lifted up the fallen figure and bore it out. As it was carried past them Rachel noted that it was the body of quite a young woman, whose little face, wasted to nothing, still looked sweet and gentle.

“Was she ill?” asked Rachel in an awed voice.

“Perhaps,” answered the Mother, shaking her grey head, “or perhaps she was very unhappy, and came here to die. What does it matter? She is happy now.”

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“Ask her, Noie, if all must die who sit beneath that tree,” said Rachel.

“Aye,” answered Nya, “all save these dumb people who have been priests of the Tree from generation to generation. To touch its stem is to perish soon or late, for it is the Tree of Life and Death, and in it dwells the Spirit of the whole race.”

“What then would happen if it fell down, or was destroyed like your tree, Mother?”

“Then the race would perish also,” answered Nya, “since their Spirit would lack a home and depart to the world of Ghosts, whither they must follow. When it dies of old age, if it should ever die, then the race will die with it.”

“And if someone should cut it down, Mother, what then?” Now when Noie translated these words to her, the face of the old queen was filled with horror, and as her face was, so

was Noie’s face.

“White Maiden,” she gasped, “speak not such wickedness lest the very thought of it should bring the curse upon us all. He who destroyed that tree would bring ruin upon this people. They would fly away, every one of them, far into the heart of the forest, and be seen no more by man. Moreover, he who did this evil thing would perish and pass down to vengeance among the ghosts, such vengeance as may not be spoken. Put that thought from thy mind, I pray thee, and let it never pass thy lips again.”

“Do you believe all this, Noie?” asked Rachel in English with a smile.

“Yes, Zoola,” answered Noie, shuddering, “for it is true. My father told me of it, and of what happened once to some

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wild men who broke into the sanctuary, and shot arrows at the Tree. No, no, I will not tell the story; it is dreadful.”

“Yet it must be foolishness, Noie, for how can a tree have power over the lives of men?”

“I do not know, but it has, it has! If I were but to cast a stone at it, I should be dead in a day, and so would you – yes, even you – nothing could save you. Oh!” she went on earnestly, “swear to me, Sister, that you will never so much as touch that tree; I pray you, swear.”

So Rachel swore, to please her, for she was tired of this tree and its powers.

Then they went down the hill again, till they came to the mouth of the cave.

“Enter, Lady,” Nya said, “for this must be thy home a while until thou goest to rule as Mother of the Trees after me, or, if it pleases thee better, up yonder to die.”

They went into the cave, having no choice. It was a great place lit dimly by the outer light, and farther down its length with lamps. Looking round her, Rachel saw that its roof was supported by white columns which she knew to be stalactites, for as a child she had seen their like. At the end of it, where the lamps burned and a fountain bubbled from the ground, rose a very large column shaped like the trunk of a tree, with branches at the top that looked like the boughs of a tree. Gazing at it Rachel understood why these dwarfs, or some ancient people before them, had chosen this cave as their temple.

“The ghost Tree of my race,” said old Nya, pointing to it, “the only tree that never falls, the Tree that lives and grows for

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ever. Yes, it grows, for it is larger now than when my mother was a child.”

As they drew near to this wondrous and ghostly looking object Rachel saw piled around and beyond it many precious things. There was gold in dust and heaps, and rings and nuggets; there were shining stones, red and green and white, that she knew were jewels; there were tusks of ivory and carvings in ivory; there were karosses and furs mouldering to decay; there were grotesque gods, fetishes of wood and stone.

“Offerings,” said Nya, “which all the nations that live in darkness bring to the Mother of the Trees, and the priests of the Cave. Costly things which they value, but we value them not, who prize power and wisdom only. Yes, yes, costly things which they give to the Mother of the Trees, the fools without a spirit, when they come here to ask her oracle. Look, there are some of the gifts which were sent by Dingaan of the Zulus in payment for the oracle of his death. Thou broughtest them, Noie, my child.”

“Yes,” answered Noie, “I brought them, and the Inkosazana here, she delivered the oracle. Eddo gave her the bowl, and she saw pictures in the bowl and showed them to Dingaan.”

“Nay, nay,” said the old woman testily, “it was I who saw the pictures, and I showed them to Eddo and to this white virgin. You cannot understand, but it was so, it was so. Eddo’s gift of vision is small, mine is great. None have ever had it as I have it, and that is why Eddo and the others have suffered my tree to live so long, because the light of my wisdom has shone about their heads and spoken through their tongues, and when I am gone they will seek and find it not. In thee they might have

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found it, Maiden, had thy heart remained empty, but now, it is full again and what room is there for wisdom such as ours? – the wisdom of the ghosts, not the wisdom of life and love and beating hearts.”

Noie translated the words, but Rachel seemed to take no heed of them.

“Dingaan?” she asked. “Is Dingaan dead? He was well enough when – when Richard came to Zululand, and since then I have seen nothing of him. How did he die?”

“He did not die, Zoola,” answered Noie, “though I think that ere long he will die, for you told him so. It was you who died for a while, not Dingaan. By-and-bye you shall learn all that story. Now you are very weary and must rest.”

“Yes,” said Rachel with a sob, “I think I died when Richard died, but now I seem to have come to life again – that is the worst of it. Oh!! Noie, Noie, why did you not let me remain dead, instead of bringing me to life again in this dreadful place?”

“Because it was otherwise fated, Sister,” replied Noie. “No, do not begin to laugh and cry; it was otherwise fated,” and bending down she whispered something into Nya’s ear.

The old dwarf nodded, then, taking Rachel by the hand, led her to where some skins were spread upon the floor.

“Lie down,” she said, “and rest. Rest, beautiful White One, and wake up to eat and be strong again,” and she gazed into Rachel’s eyes as Eddo had done when the fits of wild laughter were on her, singing something as she gazed.

While she sang the madness that was gathering there again went out of Rachel’s eyes, the lids closed over them, and pres-

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